


It's Okay to Need Help

by poselikeateam



Series: Vampire Bards (and the Witchers Who Love Them) [9]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Depression, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Medical marijuana, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Protective Lambert (The Witcher), Self-Harm, Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Supportive Lambert (The Witcher), Valdo Marx uses Medical Marijuana, Valdo Marx whump, Vampire Valdo Marx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: Valdo doesn't know where this habit started, not exactly. He just knows that it's a cycle he can't escape. Honestly, he hasn't even properly tried. How else is a vampire meant to cope? Lambert, however, disagrees.[TW for self-harm. Read the tags, please.]
Relationships: Lambert/Valdo Marx
Series: Vampire Bards (and the Witchers Who Love Them) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892647
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	It's Okay to Need Help

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger Warnings** for blood, injury, self-harm, depression, and panic attacks. If you think I should add any tags, please let me know, and I will.

Everyone has bad habits, and Valdo is no exception. He enjoys his pipe, for one — hell on his voice, he's sure, but those lovely, little five-leafed plants really help him when he's feeling... Well, when he's feeling. And when he isn’t. He often falls into a sort of despair, only _despair_ implies a depth of emotion that he doesn't usually have in that state. It's more like a gaping nothingness inside him where his emotions should be. Anything he feels is muted at best, and all he is, to his very core, is _tired_. He sleeps and sleeps, and hopes that when he wakes, he'll be a _person_ again, but it's rarely enough. Sometimes, the herbs help. Usually, actually. It's just that there are those rare occasions when it's so overwhelming, when he's so empty that he can't fucking handle it, that he indulges in another habit that he's much less proud of.

In some ways, this one is far worse. In others, it's better. As a bard, it's certainly better on his throat. As a vampire, it doesn't quite matter either way.

His kind is predisposed to violence, he thinks. It's in their nature to harm. What else are they good for, really? What else is _Valdo_ good for? He was created to cause injury, and so he does. 

He injures himself. He can't quite remember how it started. He just knows that, when all else fails, this usually works. 

It's not just for when he can't feel enough no matter how much he tries. It does work for that, of course. It's just... it's a habit with a wide range of applicable uses. When he's feeling too much, so much that he can't make sense of the cacophony in his head, it helps him to recalibrate. The pain he causes himself is another feeling, but it's sharper, stands out above the rest. It's something to focus on. 

When he gets overwhelmed by how little control he truly has over his own life, he hurts himself. The pain he causes, the injury, it's entirely his choice. It's one thing that he can control, and no one else. The blood that wells up under his fangs or his claws is something that he caused, that only affects him. In those moments, it's an oasis to him in a desert of helplessness; he can always feel bad about it later, when he’s well again.

During the times he can't stand himself, he causes himself pain. He tears his flesh open and he bleeds and he cries and sometimes he _screams_ and it's like a dam breaking inside of him. He can let it all out, the pain and self-loathing washing out of him with his tainted blood. He is cleansed. He is born anew, if only for a moment.

He often hungers, and when he does, he rarely indulges, rarely takes care of his thirst. He tries to distract himself from the pain, the yawning emptiness inside of him, the way he feels like his body is punishing him for refusing to give in to its demands. He can ignore it for only so long. When that time passes, and he still isn't willing to feed, he slices his arms open. Losing blood isn't ideal when he already hungers for it so, but it's... better, somehow. It grounds him. There is blood, even though it is his. If he tastes it, he can trick himself into thinking he isn't so damn thirsty anymore, if only for a little while.

It's a vicious habit, but it's everything to him. It's the only thing he has. His music has never been a real outlet for him; he must entertain others, after all, and nobody wants to hear him sing about tragedy. What is he going to do, boycott love? No, he sings what others want him to, and he hides the weakest parts of himself. 

He's never yet indulged in this habit around Lambert. It truly is a rarity, especially now. Being with Lambert makes him feel so happy, sometimes, that he's overwhelmed by it. He'll admit, he's opened his own skin before just because he felt like he was drowning in his own happiness, his own contentment. It's not something he's used to, and it scared him, quite frankly. How can he ground himself otherwise? How can a creature borne of blood ever hope to be anything but a violent beast? How can he find an outlet that doesn't involve suffering? 

No, there is no such thing, for one such as him. Better to harm himself, and no one else.

It's not as though he doesn't deserve it.

**

Something is wrong with Valdo. Lambert's not an idiot. He can see the other man draw in on himself. He can see the way that he hides away everything he is, can see past the false cheer and the barbed wit and the deflection. Gods, there's a _lot_ of deflection.

But Lambert is no fool. He knows Valdo. The troubadour isn't usually like this. He fiddles with that pipe of his more than usual, lately, and when he isn't, he's... it's like he's someone else. He isn't the Valdo that Lambert knows, not really.

No, that's not true. It isn't true at all. He's the same Valdo as he always was and always will be. He's the idiot that Lambert fell for, the idiot that fell for Lambert. He's the one that patches the wounds Lambert can't reach, the one that comforts him when he won't even admit, himself, that he needs to be comforted. He's the same Valdo, but he's _acting_ different. He's hurting. 

Lambert hates it.

He hates that Valdo is hurting. He hates that the troubadour clearly doesn't feel like he can open up to him. He hates feeling fucking _helpless_ , helpless and worthless and useless. He hates not knowing what Valdo needs, but knowing that he needs _something_ — something Lambert can't provide.

He doesn't know what he can do. Bring it up? That's not him, that's not something he _does_. And Valdo might not appreciate it, anyway. Lambert doesn't want to pry into business that isn't his, but he doesn't know how long he can deal with this. 

When he smells blood... 

Okay, in theory, that's not unusual. Valdo's a vampire, even though it's not something he exactly likes about himself. He always has this faint smell of blood under all the rest of the scents that come together to make up _Valdo Marx_. It's just usually so faint that he wouldn't notice it if he didn't know it was there to begin with.

This is different. It's not faint at all. It's almost overpowering.

In theory, this wouldn't be too out of character, either. As much as Valdo hates what he is and what he has to do because of it, he still does take care of his needs. Not nearly as much as he should, mind — Lambert needs to bring that up, too, but he doesn't know _how_ — but he does take care of his hunger eventually. 

The thing is, it's only the two of them out here. The only person Valdo could possibly feed from in the middle of the fucking wilderness is Lambert, and he doesn't have any more holes in him than he usually does.

Valdo is a higher vampire. He's not human. The things that would kill a human — or even Lambert, a witcher — don't apply where Valdo is concerned. Even if he is killed, he won't be, really; he'll just come back, good as new, as if from a long nap. 

And if Valdo was hurt, he'd have cried out, right? He can hold his own (Lambert still remembers when he took down that Fiend, as if it was a fever dream). He isn't as fragile as he might like to make people believe. 

That said... he's not himself, lately. Lambert doesn't think it's unreasonable for him to go check up on his boyfriend. He's clearly not well, in some capacity. There are enough red flags from the past week to make three quilts at least. 

Sure, Valdo could have hurt himself shaving, or stepped on a rock. Then again, higher vampires are pretty fucking sturdy. He doesn't know much about them — no one does, really, and he's not going to do something as stupid as asking Valdo for specifics — but he knows that they are pretty much impervious to a lot of the things that would injure a human. Somehow, he doesn't think _sharp rocks_ are one of his boyfriend's secret weaknesses.

So Lambert makes his way through the underbrush. He doesn't draw his sword, yet. It's not like him, but he has a feeling that it's the wrong move. He's got quick reflexes, and he's ready to draw his blade at even the faintest hint of danger; but if it's something _else_ , some internal thing, perhaps, something Lambert can't face with metal and muscle... no, it's better for him to wait, even if his hand itches to grab the hilt of his sword.

He wanders deeper into the underbrush, towards the sound of running water. Valdo had said something about going for a bath and a shave, but his scent was off. It was almost like... He wasn't _lying_ , exactly, but there was the faintest hint of deceit. There's something he's trying to hide. Under any other circumstances, Lambert would let him have his secrets. Everyone has them, after all, and sticking his nose in other people's business has never done him any good. 

This isn't a normal circumstance, though. Valdo's been acting off for a while. He fidgets too much, doesn't look Lambert in the eye. He looks and smells distressed even though he tries to hide it — and he's obviously been trying to hide it, which is just another red flag to sew onto the tapestry of red flags that makes up Valdo's recent behaviour.

If Lambert is being honest, he expected this. He expected to come across exactly the scene he sees when he finds Valdo. He'd have to be an idiot, or lying to himself, to not account for the possibility, with everything he knows about his lover. He would have to be an idiot, or more concerned with his own personal comfort than Valdo's health and safety.

He is none of those things, so he thought of it. Of course he did. However, he is a bit of an idiot after all, perhaps, because he still held out hope. He still hoped against hope that it wasn't going to be what he knew he'd find. 

The blood is Valdo's. Of course it is, who else would even be there to bleed? He has his claws out, his human appearance no longer applied to his right hand in particular. His left arm is... 

Fuck. 

It doesn't look great.

Lambert, briefly, considers casting _aard_. He thinks about knocking Valdo on his ass so he can't keep fucking hurting himself. He thinks about tackling him and trying to hold him down. Valdo hasn't noticed him, even though the witcher hasn't made the slightest attempt at quieting his steps. 

But Lambert knows what this feels like. He's seen this before. He’s _been there_ before. He _hates_ that Valdo is doing this, _feeling_ this, but he understands.

Still, he can't help but react in a very emotional way. It's not exactly his fault. This is a lot to walk in on, after all.

**

"Valdo, what the fuck are you doing!?"

Well, damn. This isn't something that Valdo is prepared to deal with, if he's being perfectly honest. Frankly, if he were capable of dealing with this, he would not be in this position, and thus would not have to. A real catch-22, he’s found himself in. 

Look, everyone has bad habits. Some people chew with their mouths open. Some can't go anywhere without a pipe. Some pick their nose. Some grind their teeth. Valdo is, well, he is not unique in this, is the point. Everyone has their bad habits, but Valdo... 

He can see why his would garner this sort of reaction, at first blush.

Here's the thing: Valdo Marx is a higher vampire. He isn't particularly happy about that fact, but it does have its advantages. Namely, his enhanced healing; when he feels incapable of coping with it, he can do any harm to his body he wants, in the heat of the moment, and it will be perfectly healed with time. 

Now, as previously stated, he is fully aware that this is not the most comforting thing to walk in on. That's one of the many reasons he kept it from Lambert. Or, well, he supposes he _tried_ to keep it from Lambert, up until now. Frankly, the situation isn't ideal, but here he is regardless. 

"Calm down, witcher," he says, trying to act perhaps a bit more put-together than he feels in the moment. 

"Calm down? Fuck off. Calm down, he says, _slitting his own fucking wrists_. Yeah, not fucking alarming in the slightest." Lambert is starting to do that _thing_ he does. Where the average man might be able to deal with panic (or whatever closest equivalent to it that is felt by a witcher), Lambert... is not great at it. He starts to rant and, if he isn't stopped in time, works himself into quite the tizzy. 

(Valdo, as a side note, enjoys accusing Lambert of things like 'working himself into a tizzy'. The witcher is not so fond of it. That's exactly why it's so amusing.) 

The problem, as Valdo sees it, is that he is not in the mood for that sort of fun right now. He's already barely hanging on by a thread. He just wants to— he _can't_ —

"Lambert, _please_ ," he hisses. "I can't, right now. I need... I..." 

He doesn't know. He doesn't _know_. He doesn't know what he needs, except to— to _bleed_ , to know that he still _can_. He needs to see a blood he cannot hunger for, just to remember what it's like to not be _this_. He needs... punishment? Salvation? _He doesn't **know**!_

It takes perhaps too long for him to notice the quiet. He's so stuck in his own head, and Gods, he wants _out_ , but he doesn't know _how._ Breathe, _breathe_ , he thinks, distantly. The silence — why? Why is it so quiet now? Lambert should be— should be shouting, surely, unless he's run off? But no, no, Valdo can still— he still feels it, that Lambert is there. 

A hand on his shoulder, and he flinches, curling in on himself. The hand twitches, he thinks, but doesn't leave. His skin burns under that touch, like he's flown too close to the sun, to something too good for the likes of him. It's... He doesn't deserve it, but he wants to, so desperately that he can hardly _breathe_ with the want of it. 

"Hey." Lambert's voice is softer than it ought to be, softer than he deserves. "Hey," he says again, like he can read Valdo's thoughts, like he sees the ugly spiral playing out before him. 

Valdo waits, waits to be admonished, threatened, even hit. He waits for some kind of _punishment_. Nothing goes without punishment, nothing, even if he must punish himself, even if—

"Valdo, look at me," Lambert says. His hands are on Valdo's face, but he isn't hurting him. No, no, he's _gentle_. _Lambert_ and _gentle_ don't often go together, but Valdo has seen it, perhaps more than anyone. Lambert is gentle with the few children who don't fear him, gentle with old ladies who are kind to him. He's still gruff, rude, an absolute bastard, but he is gentle, for him. It's a gentleness one needs to look between the lines to see, but it is there for those who look.

Now, though, he is _only_ gentle. Yes, he is firm; he doesn't _allow_ Valdo to spiral. He is, however, not hiding behind snark and bravado and deflection. He is open. He is _concerned_. 

And Valdo listens. Of course he listens; how could he not? How could he ignore him? They both hide behind bluster and sass and acidic personalities, but strip them to their barest essence, and the truth is this: Valdo would do anything for Lambert. Valdo would find a way to pluck the stars from the sky for him. 

"I-I can't," he says. He doesn't clarify, because even he doesn't know what he's trying to convey. He can't stop, he can't calm down, he can't _breathe_. 

"Hey, stop. Yes you can. You're okay. You're gonna be okay." Lambert is still firm, but he's so soothing in this moment, in a way Valdo almost never sees from him; and when he does, it's never as naked as it is now. Valdo trembles in his grasp, the metal scent of his blood wafting through the air and making him dizzy. There's so much to deal with, too much, and he _can't_ —

"You can," Lambert says again, and Valdo doesn't know whether he's repeating himself, or responding to him. He doesn't know if his thoughts are staying in his head or spilling from his lips. Everything hurts, from the tears pricking his eyes to the gashes in his arms to the crushing pressure of all that he is and all that he has to deal with alone.

"You don't have to do it alone," says the witcher. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Yes. He is. Lambert is here. Valdo doesn't understand, doesn't deserve it. He doesn't want to deal with the pain when Lambert finally leaves. He doesn't want to waste the time they have but if he enjoys it too much then it'll only hurt all the more later, and it'll _break_ him. His witcher is perhaps the loveliest man he knows, behind the bravado and the carefully-curated mask of perpetual irritation. Hells, even that is endearing to him. Lambert is many things, but he's never boring.

"You don't have to," Valdo murmurs. "Why help me at all?" 

He knows the answer, he thinks. He knows that Lambert loves him. He knows that. It's just that right now, to him, it doesn't seem like enough. It hardly even seems _possible_. 

Lambert says that that's bullshit, and Valdo _knows_ that, he _does_. It's just that— that he can't quite convince himself of it. It doesn't make _sense_ and he _can't_. 

"How about this, then," Lambert says, thumb tracing almost absently under Valdo's right eye, swiping away the tears. "I'm a witcher, yeah? Think of it as a contract. I gotta keep an eye on you."

"So I won't hurt anyone?" Valdo spits bitterly.

Lambert sighs, and presses their foreheads together. It's so gentle, so intimate, that the fight leaves Valdo almost immediately. "No," says the witcher, "so you won't hurt someone _important_."

"I only hurt myself."

"That's the point."

It takes a moment for that to register, and another moment for Valdo to really comprehend it. Lambert is saying that... what, that he's important? But he's not, he's just— he's just a _monster_ , just _Valdo_. 

The witcher means it, though. He does, he insists; he _does_. "Everyone else can go fuck themselves," he says, and Valdo can't stop himself from laughing, even though he's still crying, too. 

Still, it isn't that easy. It won't be. It _can't_ be. Even if Lambert makes him stop, he'll still feel the way he does; and he'll only hurt _more_ if he can't let it out. He needs this, he _needs_ this. He can't just stop; he's tried, once or twice or thrice or more, he's tried, tried to stop, but he _can't_ , and he _always_ ends up right back where he started but _worse_ and he _**can't**_.

"Breathe with me, okay?" says Lambert. It's not easy, but Lambert isn't demanding perfection. He's just asking him to try. The more Valdo focuses on Lambert's breaths, on matching his own with them, the more he feels the fog lift from his mind, the more he calms. All the tension, the panic, the fight just leaves him, _oozes_ out of him, and he's just so _tired_ , now. That's all that's left: exhaustion, and a Valdo-shaped shell. 

_Rest_ , says Lambert, no less gentle, _just rest_. Even now, after all of this, he's still _there_. Valdo wants to stop for him, but— 

Lambert shushes him again. He doesn't _want_ that, not exactly. He wants Valdo to stop for _Valdo_. He wants to help him get to a point that he _can_. It's not about making Lambert comfortable, it's about helping Valdo live better. It's... It's a promise of _help_ , and for the first time, Valdo thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can take it.

It's not going to be easy. He'll slip up, he's sure. The itch will come back, the desire, the panic clawing its way through his veins. Lambert can't just snap his fingers and make it stop. Maybe, though, they can work on it together. Maybe they can work on it enough. Valdo won't be okay today, or tomorrow, or perhaps even a year from now. It's okay, though. They have time. They can do this together.

It may not be soon, but at some point, he will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> If you, or anyone you know, is thinking and feeling things similar to those expressed in this fic, _please_ reach out to someone. I know it's hard a lot of the time, for a lot of different reasons. Personally, I feel like I'm bothering people if I try to talk to them. **You are not bothering anyone.** What's important is your safety and mental health. 
> 
> I wrote this because I wanted to work through feelings and events that I have experienced in my life. I didn't write this to glorify self-harm. I **do not** think it's a good idea. However, as someone who used to do it, I know it isn't as easy as just _not doing it_ a lot of the time. It takes time, effort, and support. Sometimes you might slip up. Nothing is meant to be easy. Just, whatever you do, **be kind to yourself.** If you can't do it for you, try it for someone else. Your mom, your grandpa, your best friend, your cat, me. There are folks who care about you, and while living for yourself is ideal, it's not always something people can just jump into. I know that. I've been there. I still go there, sometimes. 
> 
> And if you know someone who's struggling, reach out. That, too, is often easier said than done. Sometimes we don't have the spoons to help others. In that case, absolutely take care of yourself first; if you give too much of yourself, soon there won't be enough of you left to give. Sometimes, we're just too good at hiding it. It's never your fault if you don't manage to help someone, unless you're deliberately trying to make things worse for them.
> 
> I usually don't try to preach at you guys like this, but it's profoundly important to me. I like you. I'd like to keep you. I'm absolutely not the only one who feels that way but even if you think I am, that's one person. That's not no one. My Twitter DMs are always open.


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